


Man of the Match

by Luka



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 20:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Matt is roped into playing in the ARC's annual cricket match.





	Man of the Match

Connor had been banished to the wilds of deep fine leg where he couldn't do much damage. Lester, looking immaculate in cricket whites, was standing at first slip directing operations. The ARC's annual cricket match was taken very seriously.

"What the hell do I do with this?" Matt looked with bemusement at the piece of wood in his hand. Someone had handed it to him and pushed him towards the centre of the field where sticks had been jammed into the ground, and the largest and scariest soldier was hurling a ball at whoever was standing in front of them.

"Hold it the other way up for a start." Becker, of course, looked very dashing all in white.

"And then what?"

"Hit the ball as hard and far as you can."

"You make it sound easy."

"Do or die," said Becker enigmatically.

Matt shrugged. Cricket, as with all sports, was a mystery to him. He'd been promised he wouldn't have to do anything and was there simply to make up the numbers. He'd stood on the edge of the field for several hours and thrown the ball back a couple of times when he'd been shouted at. He hadn't banked on having to go and bat, or whatever they called it.

He had to admit, though, that the feel of Becker's hands on his body, arranging him into something vaguely resembling the correct stance was an added bonus. Connor's wolf-whistle from what looked like the next field was greeted with a withering stare from Lester.

When he was being plied with drinks in the bar later, Matt couldn't really remember what had happened, apart from a vague suspicion he'd closed his eyes and swung blindly at the small red missile. He had connected, and had opened his eyes to see Becker dancing a jig of delight and shouting about a six. Whatever it was, they'd won the match.

Becker set another pint in front of Matt and sat down beside him, their thighs touching. "That was a bit bloody impressive."

"Beginner's luck," said Matt.

Becker grinned wolfishly. "Well, you're certainly my man of the match."

"And what does that involve?"

Becker waggled his eyebrows. "Oh, you're bound to be stiff after your exertions, so I thought a massage would be in order …"

"I might be stiff elsewhere," said Matt, perking up considerably.

Becker's pint disappeared at speed. "In that case, come and play with my forward short leg."

Matt had no idea what he was talking about, but he thought he might be starting to like this weird game of cricket.


End file.
